


Rants: But Not What You Think

by ArlenaTheWriter



Series: Drabbles (AKA The Series Everyone Hates) [8]
Category: No Fandom
Genre: Anger, In a way, Kinda, Pain, Poetry, Random & Short, Rants, This world is dying, Writing, just a bunch of words
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-15
Updated: 2019-12-15
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:01:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21811852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArlenaTheWriter/pseuds/ArlenaTheWriter
Summary: When something goes on, I rant, but I rant in a sort of poetry in a way.Yes, I have ranting poetry, but that is on my poetry works.This stuff is just a bunch of angry drabbles.
Relationships: No Romantic Relationship(s)
Series: Drabbles (AKA The Series Everyone Hates) [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1308470





	Rants: But Not What You Think

**Author's Note:**

> I found this one from awhile ago.  
> I'm pretty sure I wrote it on the bus.

Pedestals that need not be reached

For standing on them is just like standing on the surface of the earth.

And how odd must it be, she thought, to believe in an onslaught of words forming a lie so deeply that one makes it their ritual. And how peculiar is this lie, that it might just be real?

We put ourselves in situations we long to be, believing that we will change, or grow. Finally be at piece. But no matter where one is, or how one acts, the game will never change. We will still be trapped in a never-ending cycle.

Letting go seems like a good chance, but even that may just be laziness or despondency.

The climb for what we wish is a wonderful sport of hope and joy, and yet there will never be a top.

But maybe there is, one can only hope that this is true. So we shall keep climbing, telling ourselves that we need more effort as we fantasize a perfect life.

But the perfect life is the one you are living right now.

We want someone else’s mind, for we have grown tired of our own. We do not like our average lives, for within them is pain. We believe in living angels, whether they are a relative, and idol, or a stranger. We believe they live without pain, or that they live with so much that it’s beautiful, and we want that.

We want to be free from hurt and full of beauty. We want someone to suck the pain away, and pump us full of beauty and desire. But beauty and desire evaporates quick, and will leave you as a solid husk, nothing yet but cracked and empty longing.

For once we learn that longing is pointless, it becomes more of a desperate cry, instead of a hopeful thought. Even though we know that our solution to pain will never work, we keep trying. Repeating each mistake over and over again.


End file.
